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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097492">kiss and conquer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart'>schweet_heart</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merlin Fic [218]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Consent Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Period Typical Attitudes, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Skin Hunger, Slow Burn, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Trust Issues, Uther Pendragon's A+ Parenting (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:01:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29097492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“And just who do you think the <i>right person</i> for Camelot’s heir might be?” Arthur inquired, layering his tone with as much sarcasm as he could manage. “The noblewomen wish to become queen; the serving girls wish to become noblewomen; the squires wish to become knights; and the knights wish to become lords of the realm. There is no one to whom I could turn who would not bring with them some sort of political repercussions. And that’s even leaving the possibility of a royal bastard out of the equation.”</p><p>Merlin sat up straight, staring at him. “You’ve slept with the <i>knights</i>?! ” he squeaked. </p><p>“Really, Merlin? <i>That’s</i> what you’re getting out of all this?” </p><p>“Sorry.” Merlin frowned, then blinked and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “There’s me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merlin Fic [218]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/70688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Tavernfest Round 2: The Five Love Languages</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I've been working on this fic since forever and it's STILL not finished, but I wanted to post it for Round 2 of <a href="https://tavernfest.tumblr.com/">Tavernfest</a> so I figured what the hell. Attempts will be made to keep to a weekly update schedule, but considering how many times I've failed at doing that I dare not make any promises 😅</p><p><b>NOTE:</b> I have tagged comparatively lightly, but if you have any particular squicks/triggers or think the stated topics may bother you, please check the content notes at the end of each chapter for additional details and proceed accordingly.</p><p>As ever, please do not re-post or archive my work elsewhere (e.g. on Goodreads or similar sites).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>1.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Arthur was seventeen the day he discovered the limits of his father’s power. </p><p> </p><p>As a child, he had believed the king invincible: his father commanded armies, secured citadels, and wielded within Camelot’s borders the ultimate power of life and death over its citizenry, such that, as a young prince, Arthur could not imagine that there might be anything his father couldn’t do. It helped that Arthur himself had barely been allowed to do anything besides train or fight since the day he was old enough to wield a sword. </p><p> </p><p>“You are Camelot’s only heir, Arthur,” Uther told him, his hand resting heavily on Arthur’s shoulder. “You are Camelot’s property as much as Camelot is yours, and as such it is necessary for you to make sacrifices.” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur understood the word <em> sacrifice</em>, and he understood <em> property</em>, too, though he found the designation far less confining than did Morgana, who was further restricted by heavy skirts and embroidery when she would rather have been out sparring with the men. But while he knew <em> what </em> it was that was expected of him, he did not fully understand <em> why </em>he should be set apart from his peers in such a way. After all, his father was the most powerful man in the entire kingdom; surely that meant that no one within Camelot’s borders could do him any harm. </p><p> </p><p>Then, when he was sixteen, Arthur fell in love. The Lady Eloise was a small, mousy-looking thing, with long, dark hair pinned carefully up like a coronet and a collection of rebellious freckles scattered across her nose. Arthur’s friends seemed to think she was rather plain, but in any case it wasn’t so much her looks as her eyes which drew him, the way she always seemed to be laughing at something.</p><p> </p><p>“She has far too much sense to fall for a prince,” Morgana said, not unkindly, when she caught Arthur mooning after her new friend. “Besides, I’ve already told her how awful you are. You might as well save your breath.” </p><p> </p><p>Lady Eloise appeared to disagree, however, because when Arthur invited her to dance with him the following evening, she accepted. Her hands were smooth and delicate in his, and she blushed when he complimented her, looking down with a demure smile before curtseying just low enough to show off her décolletage. </p><p> </p><p>Arthur had kissed girls before—most of them laundry maids and serving girls, the ones who made eyes at him and giggled when they came to collect his things. But kissing Lady Eloise was exciting because it was forbidden, and because she had already told him he was the first man who had ever touched her. Her breasts were soft and full when he cupped them, and she squirmed artlessly against him when he coaxed her nipples to a peak, turning her head away as though embarrassed by her own need. Arthur had courted her clumsily for almost a year, ignoring Morgana’s sullen expression and averted gaze, and when he finally bedded her, he did so in the full belief that she would one day be his wife. </p><p> </p><p>She was adequately compensated for her services. Later, Arthur discovered that his father had offered her a handsome dowry and marriage to a Lord in exchange for her maidenhead, having decided it was high time that his son be indoctrinated into the manly art of love. He was never certain whether she’d been desperate or interested or both, but in the end it didn’t make much of a difference. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re a prince, Arthur,” King Uther said, while Arthur stood stone-faced and humiliated in front of him. “I thought you understood by now what that means. Everyone you meet is going to want something from you. The only choice you need to make is whether to give it to them and what to ask for in return.” </p><p> </p><p>“Not everyone has an ulterior motive,” Arthur argued, his fists clenched. “You can’t reduce <em> love </em> to some kind of—of <em> market transaction</em>.” But his father merely looked at him, and the contempt in his expression seared Arthur to his bones.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t raise you to believe in fairytales,” Uther said coldly. “You’re a man now. It’s time to put aside these childish dreams.”</p><p> </p><p>The last time Arthur saw Lady Eloise was on her wedding day. She was just shy of nineteen, dressed in a lace-collared gown that emphasised the proud arch of her neck and the newfound plenitude of her father's wealth. He kissed her hand with the requisite formality and wished her joy, and when she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes he knew that his father was right.</p><p> </p><p>A king might lead armies, topple kingdoms, and bring citadels to their knees, but the one thing he could not have was a moment of weakness; the one luxury he could not afford was to bestow on anyone the burden of his trust. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>There were others, over the years. Arthur was hardly celibate, and if nothing else, the king had taught him that along with his word, his wealth, and his weapons, his body was a tool that could be wielded to considerable strategic effect. His only rule was that he never entered into any kind of arrangement without first understanding what he was getting into. After all, it was easier to negotiate the terms if you were aware of what you were bartering to begin with. </p><p> </p><p>Some of the younger knights hero-worshipped him and wanted his attention; they were difficult, and best avoided. The servants sometimes wanted status, sometimes safety, sometimes power. The sorceresses (and there were a couple) invariably wanted to kill him. Eventually, as he grew older, it became easier just to take his pleasure alone, or—very occasionally—in one of the brothels they encountered while out on campaign. At least there the inhabitants were honest about the limits of the transaction, and there was no danger of lust, whatever its object, being mistaken for something else.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, he should have known better than to try to explain all of this to his manservant.</p><p> </p><p>“So you never—<em> you know</em>,” Merlin said incredulously, turning onto his side so that he could look at Arthur across the fire. “Not ever?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, and I suppose you were <em> you-knowing </em> from the moment your voice changed,” Arthur scoffed, glaring. “Weren’t you listening to a word I said? Of course I <em> do</em>, just not…often.”</p><p> </p><p>And certainly not recently, although he didn’t bother adding that part. There were some things his manservant simply did not need to know.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Merlin made a face which suggested, all evidence to the contrary, that he was thinking. “Don’t you miss it?”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur only shrugged. Truth be told, he had never really found his previous encounters anything more than satisfactory, like scratching an itch or slaking a thirst; sex was enjoyable in its way, of course, but not something he sought out the way some men did, and certainly not the point to which his every thought gravitated. Even if he was noticing, in a general sort of way, how lovely Merlin’s face was in the firelight just now; how full his mouth was. </p><p> </p><p>“Clearly you haven’t been with the right people,” Merlin said, pursing his lips. He looked vaguely put out by this, as though Arthur had shattered some long-held and deeply cherished dream. Perhaps he thought a prince’s life ought to be rife with such opportunities. </p><p> </p><p>“And just who do you think the <em> right person </em>for Camelot’s heir might be?” Arthur inquired, layering his tone with as much sarcasm as he could manage. “The noblewomen wish to become queen; the serving girls wish to become noblewomen; the squires wish to become knights; and the knights wish to become lords of the realm. There is no one to whom I could turn who would not bring with them some sort of political repercussions. And that’s even leaving the possibility of a royal bastard out of the equation.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin sat up straight, staring at him. “You’ve slept with the <em> knights?! </em>” he squeaked. </p><p> </p><p>“Really, Merlin? <em> That’s </em>what you’re getting out of all this?” </p><p> </p><p>“Sorry.” Merlin frowned, then blinked and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “There’s me.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur choked. It was one thing, he thought, to lie awake and fantasise idly about dark hair and soft blue eyes, about a long, lean body yielding sweetly under his—those could belong to anyone. But to imagine Merlin, with his irrepressible smile and too-big ears and those clever, gentle hands—to imagine <em> Merlin </em> in his bed was a danger to both of them, and as such ought never to cross his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t do that,” he said, when he had regained his breath. “You’re my servant.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’ve been with serving girls before, you said,” Merlin pointed out, irritatingly reasonable. He had his head down, fingers combing through the grass for twigs to throw on the fire, as though this were any other ordinary conversation and not—well. Whatever this was. “Why should that make any difference? You’d hardly be coercing me, if I were the one who offered first.”</p><p> </p><p>Was he offering, though? Arthur studied the line of his profile, the edges of Merlin’s nose and cheekbones limned in red and gold. What did Merlin want so desperately that he would proposition a prince to get it? Arthur would give it to him without the sex, if he asked, along with the things that he would give to no one else: his time; his trust; the small, scared, vulnerable parts of himself that seldom saw daylight. </p><p> </p><p>If Merlin asked, of course. Which he wouldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>“And if things ended badly?” he inquired, after a pause. “What then? I’d have to get a new manservant—or worse, we’d be stuck together until I became king. It isn’t worth the risk.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does it usually end badly, then?” Merlin sounded amused. “Is <em> that </em>why you don’t do it more often?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>No</em>, of course not, I—”</p><p> </p><p>He stopped, his tongue tangling in his mouth as his thoughts tied themselves in knots. Merlin had flustered him, something he wasn’t used to, but the real issue was that he couldn’t think of an adequate excuse. Why <em>shouldn’t</em> Merlin offer and be accepted like anybody else, and become just one more in the long list of mistakes carved into Arthur’s bedpost? He turned over onto his back, settling his hands across his chest and staring up at the smudge of stars above the glow of the fire. “It wouldn’t work,” he said finally, in tones that put an end to the topic of discussion. “That’s all there is to it.”</p><p> </p><p>But that didn’t stop him from thinking about it for the rest of the night. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Merlin didn’t bring up the conversation again for the rest of their trip, but Arthur could tell it had been on his mind because the first thing he said when they got back to Camelot was, “Is it because you think I’m inexperienced? Is that why you don’t want to?”</p><p> </p><p>“No.”</p><p> </p><p>“Because I may not have slept with any of the knights,” Merlin was turning down Arthur’s bed, pummelling at the pillows and paying no attention to Arthur at all, “but I’m not a <em> total </em>innocent. We’re very frank people, in the country—and I was a very curious boy.” </p><p> </p><p>He glanced back, and Arthur’s gaze skittered away, his cheeks reddening as he realised he’d been staring. </p><p> </p><p>“Is that what you want?” he asked, to cover the moment. “Some kind of—reverse <em> droit du seigneur</em>?” </p><p> </p><p>“I have no idea what that means,” Merlin said, displaying that unique talent for ill-timed idiocy which had tempted Arthur to strangle him more than once. “But if you’re asking whether I want to bed you because you’re a prince, I couldn’t care less.” He grinned at Arthur, who smiled reluctantly back. “It’s not like I’m expecting you to do it with your crown on. But, I mean.” He worried at his lower lip, the first sign of uncertainty that Arthur had seen from him all evening, and then shrugged. “It does seem like you’ve been missing out, not having done it with anyone who treated you like—like a person, rather than…”</p><p> </p><p>“A royal fuck?” Arthur suggested, to see if he could make Merlin blush.</p><p> </p><p>“If you want to put it that way.” Merlin scowled, but didn’t colour. Interesting. “Then yes, that’s more or less what I meant. That is, unless—if you don’t find me attractive…”</p><p> </p><p>He had seen Arthur looking—he must have done. Had maybe stolen a look himself, once or twice, when Arthur was undressing or bathing or walking around in the nude half <strike>hoping</strike> expecting that Merlin would comment on what he saw. Unlike Arthur, Merlin was not shy about saying what he thought, perhaps because he had no need to be. The fate of a kingdom did not rise or fall on his every word, and the men he took to his bed would not cause political scandal if they spoke out of turn.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not it,” Arthur said, since there was no point lying on that score. “You’re—not unattractive, I suppose.” He was beautiful; an odd descriptor for a man, but nevertheless an apt one. “I mean, it’s not as though I’m repulsed by you.”</p><p> </p><p>“How flattering, sire,” Merlin said drily. “What is it, then?” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s complicated.” Arthur shucked off his boots and jacket, aware of Merlin’s eyes on him as he approached to help with his laces. It was hard to think with him so close, harder still to come up with an excuse when what he really wanted to do was lean over and kiss him. “I suppose you could say that it’s a matter of principle.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh.” Merlin’s hands brushed against Arthur’s throat, warm and gentle, the cloth falling away at his neck. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. “So it’s not that you’re actively opposed to the idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“No.” It came out more honestly than he meant it to. “It’s just that I never sleep with someone unless I know what it is they want.” </p><p> </p><p>They were standing mere breaths apart, now. Merlin looked up at him from beneath heavy lashes, one eyebrow cocked as though trying to determine whether Arthur was serious. Arthur waited, but when no additional protest or explanation was forthcoming, he stepped out of Merlin’s grasp and stripped off his shirt, chucking it onto the bed before reaching for his shift.</p><p> </p><p>“That will be all, Merlin,” he said, turning his back, and he refused to be disappointed when the only response was the sound of Merlin’s footsteps heading towards the door. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Arthur expected that would be the end of the matter—and, indeed, for a couple of days it seemed that it was, as Merlin didn’t bring up Arthur’s private life (or lack thereof) again. Arthur told himself that it was no doubt for the best. He had grown to depend on Merlin’s friendship, more so than probably was wise, and to have that stripped away from him simply because his manservant failed to understand the politics of Arthur’s bedchamber would have been too much to bear.</p><p> </p><p>He had reckoned, of course, without Merlin’s tenacity.</p><p> </p><p>“I want to kiss you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You—what?” It was late evening, and Arthur was once again in the process of disrobing, his cloak already discarded along with his boots, his jacket lying in a heap on the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Not just kiss you,” Merlin went on, lifting his gaze to Arthur’s with a hint of challenge in his eyes. “I want to undress you—not because it’s my job but because you <em> want </em>me to undress you, like I’ve never done it before. I want to feel you inside me.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur’s cheeks flushed, and he felt a shock of heat jolt through his body at the picture Merlin’s words invoked. He gritted his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Merlin</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? You asked me what I want, so I’m telling you.” Undeterred, Merlin continued to unlace Arthur’s shirt, his every movement deliberate and slow. Arthur could feel the rapid rise and fall of his own chest as his breathing quickened and knew that Merlin must have noticed it too. “We don’t have to do it that way, if you don’t want to. I mean, if there was something else you had in mind…it’s not like I haven’t thought about it before.” Arthur’s throat caught, and Merlin seemed to realise what he’d said. “But I don’t—I’m not trying to push you into anything,” he added hastily, misinterpreting Arthur’s silence. “I just thought you should know what I wanted, in case that was something you wanted, too.” He peered into Arthur’s face, as serious as the prince had ever seen him. “<em>Is </em>that something you want? Arthur?”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur stared at him. He could stop this, that much was clear; Merlin was giving him an out, and it was one that he knew he ought to take, for both their sakes. All he had to do was say no. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he said hoarsely. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re sure?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay then,” Merlin said, and kissed him.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He kissed with a boy’s enthusiasm, but the hands that rucked up Arthur’s shirt and slid it up over his head were a man’s hands, with a man’s knowledge of how to please other men. Arthur hissed as Merlin’s fingers cupped his cock, producing a tantalising amount of heat even through his breeches, and Merlin let out an answering hitch of breath as he pressed closer, dropping open-mouthed kisses to Arthur’s throat and jaw as he stripped away their clothes. </p><p> </p><p>Merlin’s hands were not soft, as Arthur had half expected. Of course they weren’t—Merlin worked for a living, hauling heavy buckets through the castle corridors, cleaning tack and polishing swords. But nor were his hands rough the way a knight’s would be, the fingers free from the calluses of repeated sword-work, his grip strong but gentle, not shaped to stab and wound. He traced one of them over Arthur’s collarbone, then let his hands slide through the dusting of dark blond hair covering Arthur’s chest, exploring curiously. Arthur could feel himself growing hard at the contact, negligible thought it was, his skin coming vibrantly alive at each point where Merlin touched him.</p><p> </p><p>“You like that, don’t you,” Merlin whispered, nosing his way along Arthur’s throat. One of his hands had moved to Arthur’s back, and Arthur shuddered, torn between the desire to pursue the sensation and the fear of being too obvious. He was a prince: remote, regal, untouchable. He was not meant to stand here like a supplicant, caught and helpless as his manservant ran his knuckles lightly along his spine, bumping over each ridge as though testing for cracks. He wasn’t supposed to think about Merlin’s hands at all, let alone crave them, let alone push himself against them like a stray cat as Merlin’s fingers splayed and slowed, pressing dimples into Arthur’s lower back.</p><p> </p><p>“You can touch me, too, you know,” Merlin offered after a moment, his smile hidden in Arthur’s neck. “I don’t mind.” </p><p> </p><p>“How very kind of you,” Arthur said, recovering himself. Perhaps it would have been more decorous to pause, but he wasn’t above taking Merlin at his word, sliding his hands over the flat chest, rubbing both thumbs over pink nipples until he felt Merlin squirm. “You’re a paragon of generosity.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you’re an ass.” Merlin shoved his shoulders lightly. Arthur took the hint, stepping backwards towards the bed and dropping onto the mattress so that Merlin could climb on top of him. “I think I liked it better when you were too shocked to answer back.” </p><p> </p><p>“And I liked it better when you weren’t so cocky,” Arthur said, narrowing his eyes. “I know you said something about using your mouth, but I didn’t think you meant for talking.”</p><p> </p><p><em> “Ass,</em>” Merlin repeated with feeling, but rather than doing what he was told—when had Merlin ever done what he was told?—he leaned down to kiss Arthur instead, grinding their lower bodies together. Arthur groaned, unaware until that moment just how much he had wanted to feel Merlin against him. When he reached up to draw him closer, however, Merlin caught hold of his wrists and pushed them back against the mattress, pinning him in place.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” he said, grinning when Arthur bucked in protest. “What do you want?” </p><p> </p><p>“What?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do you <em> want</em>, Arthur, come on. Do you want to fuck me?” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur’s breath seemed lodged in his throat. “Do you <em> want </em> me to fuck you?” </p><p> </p><p>“I asked you first. What is it that you’d like to do?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—” Arthur swallowed, trying to think of something but coming up short, forgetting in that instant everything he’d ever done. He’d never had someone ask him what he <em>liked</em> before. “I don’t know. Kiss me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay.” Merlin leaned in, his lips brushing softly against Arthur’s own. He had to let go of Arthur’s wrists to balance himself, and Arthur reached up to hold him, running his hands over the smooth skin of Merlin’s flanks and down, cupping his buttocks and stroking his thighs. Merlin sighed into his mouth, and Arthur rolled them over, pressing his manservant down into the mattress as he let himself indulge, just a little, in the pleasure of touching the prone body, feeling Merlin’s little shifts and gasps beneath his hands. </p><p> </p><p>Merlin was as hard as he was, his cock leaking smears of pre-come all over his belly, hips straining as Arthur deliberately bypassed his groin to mouth at his thigh. Once Merlin came, it would be all over, and he wasn’t sure he could bear to let that happen just yet; having made the decision to do this, he was of a mind to take his time. He scraped his teeth over Merlin’s hipbone, then laved at the spot with his tongue, moving gradually lower and between Merlin’s thighs until he was nuzzled up against his balls, tasting the salty sweat of him. Merlin spread his legs instinctively, clutching at Arthur’s hair, and tugged him none too subtly upwards. Arthur smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Something you want?” he asked innocently, blowing lightly over Merlin’s tip, and Merlin made a strangled sound that Arthur would have recognised anywhere. With one last kiss to the base of Merlin’s cock, Arthur shuffled on hands and knees to fetch a vial of oil from his nightstand, holding it up for inspection. “May I?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please,” Merlin groaned, closing his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>It was not as Arthur had imagined it would be. When he had pictured—well, not this, but something similar, it was always with some other person and on some other pretext: simple and uncomplicated sex. He was careful in those moments to think in terms of specific features and not of the composite whole, but now that Merlin lay under him, panting and pliant, all of Arthur’s earlier fantasies fitted themselves together into one singular, burning truth. </p><p> </p><p>He had wanted this. God, he had wanted it so badly, enough that he had barely even stopped to question it when it became apparent that Merlin wanted it too. He knew there would be consequences, that he couldn’t have something like this without a corresponding sacrifice, but here was Merlin, flushed and hot and his for the taking, and how was Arthur meant to resist when he offered himself like that—not just his body, which Arthur might have withstood, but everything that he was? </p><p> </p><p>He tipped some of the oil into his palm and began to coax Merlin open, pressing first one, then another finger inside to smooth the way for his cock. Merlin was tight and slick around him, more so than he had expected, and the knowledge of it kicked his pulse unreasonably higher, his hands shaking where he poured out the oil. There were so many things he wanted that he didn’t know where to start, how to <em> ask </em> when Merlin was only doing this out of—what, some misplaced sense of duty? Boredom? Because he, too, wanted something he didn’t know how to ask for any other way? </p><p> </p><p>“Fucking—<em>do it, </em>Arthur, come on,” Merlin ground out at last, and Arthur withdrew his fingers with a wet squelch. “If I come without your cock in me, I swear to God I’m going to—”</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Arthur asked, adjusting the angle and lining himself up. “Make my life miserable? Fail to polish my boots when ordered, and never deliver my breakfast on time? I shudder to think.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Prat</em>,” Merlin growled, and then Arthur was inside. </p><p> </p><p>Merlin took him, miraculously, without complaint, and Arthur watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, his hands scrabbling uselessly against the silken sheets. It took a few moments for Arthur to seat himself properly, but perhaps because he was already so attuned to Merlin’s moods he could sense the tension in him as he bottomed out, saw in the little notch of determination between his brows all of the misgivings that Merlin was trying so hard to hide. </p><p> </p><p><em> Is that something you want? </em> he’d asked, as if Arthur could ever have wanted anything else. Or perhaps he had already guessed, had sensed that what Arthur wanted from him was far more desperate and complicated than a simple fuck, and had been trying to warn him to keep it to himself. </p><p> </p><p>“You all right?” he asked, his voice coming out tight and thin with the effort of keeping himself under control. “Merlin? Do you want me to—”</p><p> </p><p>“If you say stop,” Merlin rasped, “sire, I will kill you with my bare hands. Just—give me a minute.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur laughed, which made Merlin groan, and then he was hooking his legs around Arthur’s waist to draw him in, his palms on Arthur’s chest, head pressed back against Arthur’s pillows. His eyes were closed, a ruddy blush spreading down his chest that made Arthur’s fingers itch to touch, but when he spoke his voice was almost normal again. “Okay. Okay, you can move. Arthur—”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur moved. Merlin groaned again, rocking upward as though without conscious volition, and Arthur grinned and kept going, arms braced on either side of Merlin’s waist, hips surging forward to drive him deep into Merlin’s body. This part, at least, he was good at, the part where he made the effort worth their while, and Merlin seemed to unfurl a little more with each stroke, loose-limbed and beautiful, his rosy skin and bitten lips suddenly all that Arthur could see.</p><p> </p><p>“God, Merlin,” he choked, his hips stuttering as he leaned over to kiss him, and Merlin pushed back against him, arching, sliding Arthur all the way in like he was determined not to let him go.</p><p> </p><p>It would have been so easy, then, for Arthur to convince himself that this was real. He knew Merlin well enough to know that he was a terrible liar, and he couldn’t imagine anything that might ever induce him to do something like this if he didn’t genuinely want to. But wanting something for what it could give you was not the same as wanting the thing for itself, and it hadn’t escaped Arthur’s notice that Merlin had deliberately sidestepped the question of why, exactly, he had a sudden desire to let Arthur fuck him. Regardless of what his manservant might have said, Arthur was not so vain as to believe it was down to his own overwhelming attractiveness, and he could only assume it was something Merlin was so embarrassed about that he needed to make sure of Arthur’s compliance, even before he went so far as to admit it to him out loud. </p><p> </p><p>And yet, Merlin didn’t seem embarrassed. He was stroking Arthur again, hands on his back, his shoulders, running down his arms; a movement that seemed almost possessive, as though he had wanted to do it all along and had only been waiting for the invitation. Arthur dropped his head down, silently pleading, and Merlin responded by tangling his fingers in Arthur’s hair, scratching them through the short strands at Arthur’s nape until he let out a shaky breath. </p><p> </p><p>In the past, there had been lovers who held onto him too tightly, as though leaving a mark would somehow prove that he was real, and breakable; and there had been others still who were unwilling to touch him at all, afraid that a single bruise might count as a form of violence against the crown. Merlin was neither of these, and yet somehow both; his hands, insouciant as the rest of him, slid along Arthur’s back and then came scraping down, his blunt fingernails sending a flare of heat along Arthur’s spine. Arthur’s vision whited out, thoughts derailing, and then without warning he spent himself in a rush, muffling the sound but not the shame of it against Merlin’s chest as he sobbed, shuddered, and then fell still. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>It took a while for Arthur to come back to himself. Breathing ragged, he withdrew his softening cock from Merlin’s body and rolled onto his side, cheeks flushing hotly as he realised that Merlin had yet to come. His manservant was petting him again—cautiously now, eyes on Arthur’s face—and Arthur turned away so that he wouldn’t see the humiliation that was sure to be visible in his expression.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he began, but Merlin overrode him.</p><p> </p><p>“Kiss me,” he said, reaching over to bracket Arthur’s cheeks. Arthur resisted for a moment, embarrassed, but Merlin persisted with a gentle pressure until he turned his head. “<em>Kiss me</em>,” he insisted, meeting Arthur’s gaze. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m the one who gives the orders here, <em> Mer</em>lin,” Arthur told him, purely on principle, but kissing was better than being stared at so he did it anyway, licking into Merlin’s mouth and nudging up against his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment to steady himself. “Do you want me to—?”</p><p> </p><p>“If you don’t mind,” Merlin said, smiling, which Arthur took to mean <em> fuck, yes</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He’d had other men’s pricks in his hands before, though not often, and in any case it felt different after what had just happened—more intimate. He gripped Merlin gently at first, getting used to the fit of him against his palm, then began to pump slowly with his fist, circling his thumb over the head and using the pre-come there to help smooth his passage. Merlin responded beautifully, throwing back his head and letting out a whine as Arthur coaxed him back to full hardness, and Arthur supported himself with one elbow so that he could watch him, the way his throat worked with the sound, the tendons standing out starkly beneath the pale skin.</p><p> </p><p>The night was quiet except for the two of them. Merlin had forgotten to bank the fire and it was burning low, the light outlining the curve of his face and thighs and setting his naked body aflame. Arthur kissed him idly, mouth open and wet against his shoulder, then sucked a lingering bruise into his neck, forgetting for a moment what such a gesture might mean and how it could betray him. Merlin shivered once, letting out a soft cry, then thrust up and up into Arthur’s grip until his body bowed and strained, streaking the tangled bedclothes with his come. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“See,” he said later, and Arthur decided it was indecent for someone that out of breath to sound so smug. “It’s better with—with someone who pays attention to what you want, too, don’t you think?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mm.” Arthur made a non-committal noise and rolled away from him. He already knew what it was that had made it so good for <em> him</em>, and it was tied into the reason why it had been a terrible idea in the first place, why he had struggled long and hard to ensure that the thought of Merlin as his lover had never crossed his mind. “Is that your completely inappropriate way of telling me that you enjoyed it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.” He could feel the huff of Merlin’s laugh against the back of his neck. “You’re not altogether terrible at this, you know. In case you were wondering.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur snorted. “That’s good to know.” </p><p> </p><p>It was familiar, this banter between them, and Arthur clung to it, gripping it like a log in the sea of unfamiliar emotions that washed over him. This, at least, had not been lost, although whether he would retain anything else of their relationship remained to be seen. The question of Merlin’s motivations loomed larger and more daunting from the other side of orgasm, as did the realisation that, whatever happened, the chances that things would go back the way they had been were slim to none. And yet, even now he couldn't bring himself to regret it.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur drowsed into the small hours, Merlin tucked close along his back as a comforting protection against the chill of the night air. He had made Merlin fetch his cloth and ewer to clean them both up, claiming it was his duty as Arthur’s manservant, but he had done most of the actual cleaning himself, wanting to prolong the period in which he was allowed to touch Merlin for as long as possible. Merlin, with what was undoubtedly a heroic feat of self-restraint, said nothing about Arthur’s uncharacteristic bent for menial employment and allowed himself to be washed without speaking, shifting obediently according to the prince’s direction while he followed the proceedings with hooded eyes. Arthur had not been able to resist kissing him when he was done, and Merlin had allowed that, too, his lips parting eagerly as though this were something he wanted for its own sake, not something he had done to prove a point. </p><p> </p><p>Because that <em> was </em> why he had done it, Arthur decided, for all that he’d insisted it was for Arthur’s benefit. Arthur was a prince; no one ever touched him without an ulterior motive, no matter how benign that motive might be, and now that Merlin had achieved his objective Arthur had no doubt that there would be something else he wanted, some trifling favour or undisclosed largesse that Arthur might be inclined to bestow on him for his exertions. It was how these things always went.</p><p> </p><p>“Arthur?” Merlin whispered. “Are you awake?” </p><p> </p><p><em> Here it comes</em>, Arthur thought. The other boot, the hook, the sting in the tail. He kept his breathing even and his eyes closed, feigning sleep, half expecting Merlin to shake him awake anyway and demand—what would he demand? What outrageous price could possibly be worth <em> this</em>? But Merlin did nothing. After a long moment, Arthur heard him sigh softly to himself, and he whispered something that Arthur didn’t catch before settling down again, his forehead brushing briefly against the prince’s nape. Around them, a new darkness descended as the draperies fell closed, whatever requests Merlin intended to make apparently shelved until daylight. </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until later that Arthur realised the hangings in front of him had seemingly drawn themselves; Merlin had been on the other side of the bed the whole time, and could not have touched them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Content notes (spoilers!):</b> Brief mentions of implied past dub-con between Arthur/OC (believed to be fully consensual at the time), and multiple references to transactional sex (all parties technically consent, but sex is treated as a means to an end, rather than an end in itself). Later, Arthur assumes this is how Merlin views the encounter between them, but he is (wildly) incorrect.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>2</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Arthur waited all morning for the ultimatum. If Merlin had wanted to kill him, he could have done so while the prince was sleeping; since Arthur was still alive, that must mean that he wanted something else, yet Arthur had no idea what that might be. A pardon, perhaps? For Arthur to overlook his treasonous nature? Or maybe Merlin was afraid of persecution, and wanted Arthur’s help to flee the kingdom. Arthur would give it, in that case, and gladly, even though losing Merlin would be like tearing off a limb. It was the only solution he could imagine that would not end with the unthinkable.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, Merlin said nothing. When he woke, his head pillowed on Arthur’s chest, he smiled sleepily at the prince and leaned up to kiss him, stretching the length of his body against Arthur’s side. Arthur let him—accepted, too, the fumbling caresses as Merlin rocked them both toward orgasm, letting his hands roam more freely than he had dared to the night before. Merlin was still slick from their coupling, and he moaned when Arthur slid two fingers into him, pushing back against the intrusion with a little gasp that made Arthur turn his face blindly into Merlin’s neck to hide his expression. He felt like a madman, careening heedlessly towards the edge of a cliff, but if this were his first and only opportunity to wake up with Merlin in his bed, then he was determined to make the most of it. He could not, after all, pay for the same mistake twice.</p><p> </p><p>When they had finished, Merlin stripped off the soiled sheets while Arthur padded over to the ewer to wash, splashing cool water on his face and wiping himself clean with a damp cloth. Merlin followed shortly afterwards, and they dressed independently but without haste, both pretending not to look as they stole glances at the other.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll go fetch your breakfast, then, shall I?” Merlin asked with a self-conscious smile, reaching out to fix the laces of Arthur’s tunic when he was done. “Gaius will start to wonder where I am if I don’t show up soon.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, of course.” Arthur’s voice came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat to correct it. “God forbid he assume you’re doing your job, like a normal person.” </p><p> </p><p>It was a poor joke, all things considered, but Merlin’s smile widened like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, his cheeks dimpling. Arthur’s observations as to his beauty had not done justice to him before: he was dazzling, all white teeth and skin and smelling of Arthur. Before he could really think the better of it, Arthur was leaning in to kiss him again, tugging Merlin close with one hand at his belt. Merlin let out a surprised sound.</p><p> </p><p>“What was that for?” </p><p> </p><p>“You’re impossible,” Arthur said, because there was no other way of expressing what he felt, and Merlin huffed indignantly but kissed him back, slower and more cautious than Arthur had been, like he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect. Just how far was he willing to let this go? </p><p> </p><p>Arthur’s breakfast was, inevitably, late that morning, but otherwise things proceeded much as they always had. Merlin stole just as many sausages off Arthur’s plate as he ever did, the only difference being that this time he ate them brazenly in front of the prince, the grease smearing his lips and chin and shining fingers as he licked them clean, his laughing eyes trained on Arthur’s face. Arthur knew he was being baited and held his ground, fully aware that the tightening in his gut had nothing to do with hunger—if it had not been for his guilty knowledge of Merlin’s secret, he might have given in and had him on the bed all over again, or provided that wicked pink tongue with something else to gorge on. </p><p> </p><p>Afterwards, Merlin went with him to the training grounds as usual, dragging his feet and grumbling as he followed Arthur down the courtyard steps. It made Arthur uncomfortable, suddenly, to have a sorcerer tagging along behind him, like trailing a wild bear on the end of a leash. It was only a matter of time before it escaped and devoured someone, and when it did it would be all his fault, yet he’d be damned if he could think of a way to stop it. He didn’t even know if Merlin <em>was</em> a sorcerer, yet—not for sure.  </p><p> </p><p>With Merlin watching him, Arthur had no hope of keeping his attention on the drills that morning, and sparring with Leon was more challenging than it should have been. The sun was out; sweat stung his eyes and trickled its way down to the hollow of his back, plastering the fabric of his undershirt against his skin. Moving chafed, and chafing <em>hurt</em>, but it also made Arthur remember the way Merlin had felt beneath him the night before, the sting of his fingernails raking over Arthur’s back. It was only through sheer muscle memory that he was able to tuck and roll when Leon tripped him, stopping the other knight’s blade when it came down mere inches from his neck.</p><p> </p><p>“Sun in your eyes again, sire?” Leon asked, helping him to his feet. Arthur brushed himself off, avoiding the knowing look in his friend’s gaze, and shrugged his shoulders.  </p><p> </p><p>“Something like that,” he said. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, trying not to look as out of breath as he felt. A moment’s inattention like that could cost him his life on the battlefield. “Again.” </p><p> </p><p>Merlin would not be on the battlefield, however—not if Arthur had anything to say about it, anyway—and it was entirely Merlin’s fault when, some minutes later, Arthur was again on his back in the dirt, this time cradling his left arm close to his chest.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said as Leon knelt next to him, sheathing his sword to check on Arthur’s injury. “You caught me with the flat of it, that’s all; it didn’t even break the skin.”</p><p> </p><p>It still hurt, unfortunately, and when Leon manipulated the joint Arthur couldn’t help letting out a hiss.</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like just a bruise,” Leon said, sounding relieved. “But I think you ought to have it checked out, just in case. Merlin will be able to judge better than I can whether there’s any damage.” </p><p> </p><p>It cost Arthur something, then, not to react. He watched his manservant weave his way between the sparring knights, heedless of the swords and lances that were flying around him, and felt his chest constrict as though against a sudden pain. How had it never occurred to him just how perilous having Merlin with him on the training grounds could be? It would be the work of a moment for a knight to slip and strike him by accident. A split-second’s hesitation, a poorly aimed blow, and Merlin could be missing an arm, a leg, an eye. Or, worse, he could be forced to use his magic in front of all these people to protect himself, costing Arthur his servant and saving his father the trouble of a trial.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Arthur growled as soon as Merlin was within earshot, grabbing him by the tunic and yanking him bodily out of harm’s way. Merlin stumbled a little in his grip, mouth open with surprise, and Arthur let go of him almost as quickly, conscious that they were in public and his knights were watching. “Do you have a death wish, or is it simply that you lack all sense of self-preservation?”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin glanced back over the training field, seemingly bemused as he straightened his tunic. “It’s not that dangerous, Arthur. They wouldn’t hurt me.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s nice that you have such faith in their general good nature,” Arthur replied scathingly. “But it’s not <em>their</em> abilities I’m worried about. I’ve never known you to walk more than a hundred yards without tripping over your own feet.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Of the two of us, which one just got knocked flat on his arse, my lord?” he asked sweetly, and Arthur could hear Leon covering his laugh with a cough. “Let me see your arm.” </p><p> </p><p>Scowling, Arthur did as he was told, then bit down on another curse as Merlin inspected his wrist with probing fingers. It didn’t help that some part of him, the same shameful part which had been reduced almost to begging the night before, seemed to have become fixated on the way Merlin’s thumb pressed against his palm, the heat of Merlin’s touch as he examined the injured limb. Something that was not quite desire curdled in Arthur’s gut, his cheeks flaming, and it was all he could do not to yank his hand away.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think it’s broken,” Merlin said, finally letting him go. “But it’s difficult to be certain, and for safety’s sake I wouldn’t recommend continuing your training today. You don’t want to do anything that might aggravate the injury.” </p><p> </p><p>He glanced up into Arthur’s face, and whatever he saw there made him frown for a moment before he turned faintly pink, unable to hold the prince’s gaze. Arthur was not inclined to sympathise with his embarrassment, especially given that it was entirely Merlin’s fault he’d been injured in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, taking his arm back and flexing it gingerly. “It’s only a bruise.” </p><p> </p><p>“It <em>might</em> be only a bruise,” Merlin corrected, emphasising the <em>might</em> in a fastidious tone that reminded Arthur distressingly of George. “Or it <em>might</em> be a fracture, in which case continuing to put strain on it could result in lasting damage. At least give it until the morning, see how it feels then.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur pursed his lips. He didn’t want to admit it, but Merlin made a very good point, and what’s more had the knowledge and experience to back it up; all of that time working with Gaius had to have rubbed off on him <em>somehow</em>, whatever Arthur liked to imply to the contrary. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he said at last, turning to Leon. “You can take over from here, can’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sire,” Leon said, glancing between the prince and his manservant curiously before clearly deciding he didn’t want to know. He bowed slightly to Arthur, and then smiled at Merlin. “Take care of him, Merlin.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will do,” Merlin said, grinning back. He caught Arthur by the elbow and steered him away from the training grounds, and this time the knights stopped what they were doing to let them pass, a gauntlet of amused eyes following them as Merlin shepherded the prince away. Arthur’s face still felt hot, and he swept his hair back from his sweaty forehead with his good hand, shaking his head. Merlin looked at him sidelong. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you really all right?” he asked, voice low, and in spite of himself Arthur’s eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to the tell-tale bruise of a love bite at his throat, just visible beneath the edge of his neckerchief. “It’s not like you to be so clumsy.” </p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired,” Arthur answered shortly, not wanting to elaborate, but Merlin’s lips curled in a smile which suggested that he was reading between the lines anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Perhaps if you didn’t work so hard, sire,” he said. “I’m sure your rigorous schedule of sleeping late and having servants indulge your every whim must be quite exhausting.” </p><p> </p><p>“It is when one of those servants is you,” Arthur answered in kind, giving him a shove, but Merlin just stumbled a little and then shoved him back, his shoulder bumping Arthur’s as they made their way up the path towards the infirmary, and for a time that small but steadying touch was enough to make everything all right again. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Evening brought its own anxieties. Merlin was wise enough to disappear while Arthur had his bath, only to reappear again as soon as he got out of it, gaze firmly averted as he held out the prince’s drying sheet. Arthur dried himself quickly, knowing without looking that Merlin still had his head down, his hands clasped diffidently behind his back. Perversely, this just seemed to make the tension worse: the knowledge that Merlin <em>would</em> touch him, if he asked, crawled over Arthur’s skin like an itch, and only his fear of the potential consequences stopped him from reaching out to be sure. </p><p> </p><p>He pulled on his shirt. Merlin had his back turned, either oblivious to or politely ignoring Arthur’s dilemma, and was crouched in front of the grate to start the fire. It should have been laid hours ago, but of course Merlin had been negligent, and Arthur heard him muttering to himself as he poked at the flames—a curse or imprecation, perhaps. Maybe a spell. </p><p> </p><p>“What was that?” Arthur asked, suddenly sharp, and Merlin started.</p><p> </p><p>“Just—talking to myself, sire,” he said, grinning as he turned away from the flickering blaze. “You know me.”</p><p> </p><p>Yes, Arthur knew Merlin—well enough to know when he was hiding something. But then, Merlin was so often secretive about things unnecessarily; he clearly thought that he was concealing his too-frequent trips to the tavern, and had tried and failed to hide his soft heart behind a raggedy jacket and an appalling sense of humour. And what kind of sorcerer used magic to draw the curtains and build up a fire? </p><p> </p><p>Merlin had moved away, busily putting away the last of Arthur’s things, and it occurred to Arthur that he could just <em>ask </em>him, outright, whether he had magic. Merlin was such a terrible liar that surely when confronted with the truth he would give himself away one way or another. What would he even say? Would he laugh and look at Arthur like he was crazy, or would he turn even paler than he already was and beg for his forgiveness? </p><p> </p><p>“Hold out your arm,” Merlin said. He had opened a jar of salve and set it on the nightstand, gesturing for Arthur to come closer. “I need to rub some more of this on and rewrap the bandage, if you don’t want it to stiffen up come morning.”  </p><p> </p><p>Wordlessly, Arthur allowed him to do so, shifting uncomfortably where he sat and trying not to give away the fact that his cock was already growing heavy between his legs. The bruise balm had a sharp, aromatic scent that was familiar to him from long hours of training, but the easy glide of it over his flesh made him think of other substances, of the things other than healing such salves could be used for. Merlin had his eyes down, so Arthur couldn’t tell if his thoughts were running in the same direction, but there was something about the intensity of his concentration which suggested he was more than aware of Arthur’s regard. </p><p> </p><p>“Merlin.” <em>Ask him now</em>, Arthur thought. <em>Ask him and then it will all be over</em>. “You—last night, I—”</p><p> </p><p>The words wouldn’t come. Merlin looked up at him, curling his fingers around Arthur’s wrist and stroking the soft skin over the pulse point. “Last night?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—” His hands were so warm. Arthur had to remind himself to breathe. “It was good, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“I thought so.” Merlin was smiling. He was inside Arthur’s space now, leaning close to him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief as he asked, “Want to do it again?” </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Waking up for a second time with Merlin sprawled against him, tousle-haired and innocent in sleep, Arthur wondered if he could possibly have been mistaken. This was not a terrifying sorcerer, bent on wreaking havoc and destruction. Merlin was smaller than he was—slimmer, rather, though they were the same height—and hapless in a way that made him seem vulnerable; the kind of bumbling ineptitude associated with fools and simpletons, both of which Arthur had frequently accused him of being. Had that been a lie as well? All those times when Merlin had laughed with him, condoled with him, had saved his life—just a ploy to get Arthur to trust him?</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps this had been Merlin’s plan all along, this…uncertainty. He had wormed his way into Arthur’s life and into his heart; it was hardly a giant leap to occupy his bed as well. From there, the throne was within easy reach, a simple spell or two away if that was what he wanted.</p><p> </p><p>His father seemed to think that was what all sorcerers wanted, although there had been a time when Arthur had once thought differently.</p><p> </p><p>He would have to consider the situation in more detail. Merlin was still an idiot—a bit of magic couldn’t change that. If he were a sorcerer, then sooner or later he would slip up; whatever it was he was planning would reveal itself and Arthur would know how to act, what to think. Until then—</p><p> </p><p>Until then, it would be better to keep Merlin close. In Arthur’s bed, if need be. If Merlin felt his plan was working, perhaps he would lower his guard and make a mistake, and then Arthur would have him right where he wanted him. </p><p> </p><p>The fact that Arthur also wanted Merlin beneath him—inside him—<em>touching </em> him was neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things. If he were a sorcerer, Arthur would find proof, and then he would have no choice but to act accordingly. Whatever his other weaknesses might be—whatever his other weakness <em>was—</em>Arthur could hardly be accused of failing to do his duty.  </p><p> </p><p>He woke Merlin before the sun was completely up, his mouth at the juncture of Merlin’s throat, cock sliding home into the space between his legs. Merlin curved back against him, languid and only half awake, and let Arthur bring him off like that, the morning sunlight travelling slow and bright across his face. </p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t drawn the curtains on them this time, and Arthur tried hard not to think about the implications of that.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>He had considered that it might be an enchantment, of course. His father had once been induced to marry a troll, and he himself had been bespelled to love the Lady Vivian, something he remembered vaguely as an overwhelming obsession with golden hair. It would make a sickening kind of sense, when considered in a practical light; enchant the prince, inveigle your way into his bed, and then even if you <em>did</em> get outed as a sorcerer you’d have him to protect you, or to sneak you out of the dungeons to escape if need be. More than that, you’d have the prince’s ear—among other things—and you’d be able to influence him in whatever direction you chose, all for the price of a few sweet words and a willing cock.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, there were parts of it which did not make sense if it were only a spell. There were times when Arthur thought that he had wanted Merlin, or someone <em>like</em>Merlin, for longer than Merlin himself could have been aware of it, longer even than Merlin had been in Camelot. He had never been exactly lonely, because a prince could never properly be said to be alone, but he had been conscious of a lack all the same, an absence which threatened to consume his every waking thought if he ever allowed himself to dwell on it. </p><p> </p><p>Merlin had filled that gap, and then some: filled it up and then spilled outwards, taking up far more of Arthur’s life and heart than he had any right to. He was funny and clumsy and hard-working (at least when no one was looking) and he cared about people in a way few of the men and women of the court had ever done. Arthur had been fascinated by him from the moment their paths crossed that day in the marketplace.</p><p> </p><p>Merlin was also the opposite of subtle. He probably had only a glancing acquaintance with the word, and even then it was likely to have been the fleeting glimpse he got as he trampled it rough-shod into the dirt. If Merlin were a sorcerer, surely Arthur would have caught him doing magic long ago. Surely he couldn’t have been that blind, couldn’t be that <em>stupid</em>. </p><p> </p><p>And yet. Things seemed to gravitate towards Merlin: children, small animals, unlikely coincidences. He had the kind of good luck which only innocents and lunatics acquired, the ability to walk unarmed through the centre of a raging battle and emerge on the other side unscathed. In retrospect, so many of his peculiarities would be explained if he had magic; the only question was whether or not Arthur wanted to explain them, if it meant that he would have to execute Merlin at the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>He did not go to training that day. His wrist did ache a little, the place where Leon had struck him newly bruised and tender, and he used that as an excuse to beg off his morning regimen, but in truth he found himself unable to concentrate on sword fighting or drills for the first time in his life. Instead, he dragged Merlin out of the citadel under the pretext of going for a ride, in the hopes that spending some time together would allow him to uncover the answers he craved.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t understand why you have to pick the worst possible weather in which to go hunting,” Merlin complained as he saddled up the horses. “Why can’t you choose a nice, sunny day to go gallivanting around the countryside?” </p><p> </p><p>“Because,” Arthur said, widening his eyes in mock innocence. “That wouldn’t be nearly as much fun, now, would it? Do keep up, Merlin.” </p><p> </p><p>And it <em>was </em>fun, despite Merlin’s protests to the contrary, but it was not enlightening. Merlin behaved just as any other man would, and did not appear any more or less inconvenienced by the weather than Arthur was. He rode badly, scared away all the game, and flat-out said ‘I told you so’ when the clouds opened up in the late afternoon and it began to pour. By the time they returned to the castle, they were both soaked to the skin, and Merlin pushed Arthur up against the wall and stripped him while they waited for the bathwater to heat, his wandering hands leaving stuttering trails of heat that burned away the chill.</p><p> </p><p>The next day, Arthur was more circumspect. He told Merlin he was needed in the council chambers and gave him leave to do whatever he wanted, within reason, as Arthur himself would be otherwise occupied. This was not altogether a lie, since he had promised his father that he would be present at that morning’s council session, but since the session would only last for half a day it also gave him the opportunity to see what Merlin would do when left to his own devices.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re giving me the day off?” Merlin asked, staring at him. “<em>Voluntarily? </em>Who are you and what have you done with the real Arthur Pendragon?” </p><p> </p><p>“I give you days off,” Arthur said, flushing hard under Merlin’s scrutiny. “But if that’s the way you feel about it, I can always give you more chores to do instead—”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” Merlin said, backing away hurriedly. “No, that will be fine, thank you, sire. Have fun arguing with the council!”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin was nothing if not predictable. When Arthur emerged from the stultifying atmosphere of his father’s court, he found his manservant easily traceable to the market in the Lower Town, spending what remained of his wages on sweetmeats and idling amongst the different stalls, chatting with some of the merchants as if he knew them all personally. Perhaps he did. There was so much that was still a mystery about Merlin, and Arthur found that even his own intimate knowledge of his manservant’s person and habits was not enough. He wanted to know <em>everything</em>: whether Merlin had ever had a sweetheart; what he thought about when he lingered over the apple tarts; why Merlin’s expression turned sad when he touched the bolts of cloth that one of the clothing merchants had on display.</p><p> </p><p>Most of all, Arthur wanted to know if Merlin hated him—if he were secretly harbouring some sort of long-cherished grievance, just waiting for the chance to avenge himself by murdering Camelot’s prince one fateful night. </p><p> </p><p>The very idea of it was ludicrous. Merlin was many things, but a secret assassin was hardly one of them. It would take a great deal of patience, for one thing, and certainly more like cunning than Merlin possessed to play such a role for months on end. He would give himself away in a moment, by tripping over his own feet or blurting out the wrong thing to the wrong person, and in any case, he had too soft a heart to be a hardened killer. </p><p> </p><p>And yet. Arthur couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that, when it came to Merlin, his judgment was more than just clouded—it was opaque. There was something about Merlin that called to him, as if his loneliness were a thing that had walked out of his body and into his waking life solely to torment him with what he couldn’t have. He could not rely on his instincts nor his desire to trust, which many had taken advantage of before now. He would have to have evidence, would need to have absolute, unshakeable <em>proof</em> before he could know for sure what Merlin was.</p><p> </p><p>And so Arthur followed him. This was easier said than done, given the situation; Arthur was a well-known figure in the town, and Merlin moved so slowly that he ran the risk of being recognised, even with his hood pulled up to cover his face. Usually, when he had business in one of the streets, Arthur walked with his head up and shoulders back, intent on getting whatever task he was set upon completed as efficiently as possible, but Merlin lingered and retraced his steps, and at times seemed to forget his purpose entirely, spending what felt like hours engaged in conversation with the vendors around him. Arthur was forced to feign interest in all manner of unlikely objects as he progressed, lingering over a display of exotic spices and once a table full of charms and amulets that would have made his father apoplectic if he’d been there to see them.</p><p> </p><p>He had just begun to wonder whether Merlin had seen through his disguise after all and was winding him up on purpose when Merlin stopped again, this time in front of a vegetable merchant at the very edge of the square. He leaned over the jumbled array of produce, doing a poor job of pretending to inspect the cabbages while actually staring over at the apple-seller’s stall across from them, and Arthur cursed when he realised what had caught his manservant’s attention. Crouching beneath the cart, just barely out of sight of the trader himself, was a young boy currently in the process of stealing apples. He was so intent on his work that he appeared entirely unaware of an angry woman approaching from the other side of the street, a uniformed member of the king’s guard only a few steps behind her.</p><p> </p><p>“God’s blood,” Arthur swore under his breath, looking around for some way to intervene. He had seen enough of his father’s justice to know how this would end: at best, the boy stood to lose a hand, at worst his life, depending on how lenient the king was feeling that day, and Arthur had no illusions that Merlin would simply stand by and let it happen, any more than he could do so himself.</p><p> </p><p>It was such a little thing, when it happened: a slight flare of gold in Merlin’s eyes, the smallest twitch of his outstretched hand. No one else appeared to notice—they were all too busy squabbling over the resulting barrel of spilled fruit, the vendor shouting at passers-by who took advantage of the moment to do a little thieving of their own. </p><p> </p><p>Arthur, however, was watching Merlin, and so saw the child flash him a cheeky grin and a wink before he vanished, darting out of sight into a nearby alley with what must have been half a dozen apples tucked down the front of his shirt.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>That night, Arthur fucked Merlin open with his mouth first, reducing him to a quivering, whimpering mess before using his cock to push him over the edge. He was so hard he ached with it, but in spite of that he couldn’t seem to make himself come, thrusting desperately between Merlin’s legs until he gave up and lay panting, unsatisfied, his forehead hot against the curve of Merlin’s back.</p><p> </p><p>His father would disown him if he knew. Sorceresses were one thing—attractive women Uther could probably understand, and in any case Arthur had always been quick to arrest them once they revealed their true purpose, knowing better than to allow would-be assassins to go free. But Merlin…Quite apart from being a man, he knew things about Arthur’s life that made him dangerous: private, intimate details that could prove lethal in an enemy’s hands. And Arthur knew things about him, too. He knew that Merlin had magic, and that he used it to steal fruit in the marketplace—not for himself, but for a beggar boy who couldn’t have been more than eight years old—and that he also used it to tuck in sleeping princes and heat their bathwater and cause fires to light themselves during inclement weather, and what exactly was Arthur supposed to do with that information except try to protect him, reckless and hopelessly stupid as he was? </p><p> </p><p>Merlin seemed to realise that Arthur’s attention was elsewhere because he rolled away from him, leaving a cool swathe of emptiness behind as he sat up. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” he said, turning to peer into Arthur’s face. “Arthur? What is it?” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur closed his eyes—anything to avoid that curious gaze—and shook his head. “Long day,” he said, and prayed that Merlin would leave it at that. There was a pause, and then something touched his cheek; Arthur jerked back for an instant before he realised it was the tips of Merlin’s fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Shh,” Merlin said, tracing the line of Arthur’s jaw and and back again. “I have an idea.”</p><p> </p><p>“What—” Arthur started to ask, but Merlin had already pushed him over onto his back and crawled on top of him—not, as Arthur had first thought, in order to seat himself once more on Arthur’s cock, but to cover him, the sharp lines and angles of his body fitting unevenly against Arthur’s own. Merlin’s skin was warm and flushed with sex, and Arthur couldn’t help the way he strained towards the contact, a soft sound escaping his lips as Merlin nuzzled up against his throat. “What are you doing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hush,” Merlin whispered again, a smile in his voice. “Let me show you.”</p><p> </p><p>He pressed his mouth to Arthur’s jaw, teeth scraping teasingly, then began to work his way down Arthur’s neck and chest, paying close attention to all the small hollows and byways of Arthur’s shoulders, the neglected curve of his elbows and fleshy base of each thumb. Arthur submitted unwillingly at first, yet rather than increasing his tension he found the soft caresses seemed to unravel something in him, untangling the knots of uncertainty and fear that had kept him from release. His body went lax, a sweeter sort of anticipation building in his groin, and at length he was able to close his eyes, his breath hitching slightly as Merlin pressed a kiss against his navel.</p><p> </p><p>No one had ever touched him like this—with tenderness, as though they had seen inside Arthur’s heart and not only loved but <em>understood</em> what they had found. Arthur was a prince: he cultivated a certain distance, valuing the privacy that came with untouchability, but in that moment, he felt as if Merlin had peeled away the mask with which he presented the world and found his true face beneath it, the part of him which had always ached hopelessly to be loved.</p><p> </p><p>Merlin’s lips found his cock, closing gently around his length as he began to suck, and Arthur let his head fall back, spilling over into Merlin’s throat with a soft, shattered sound that he barely recognised as his own. He felt flayed open and exposed, too raw to speak, so he didn’t protest when Merlin settled back onto the mattress beside him and nestled into his arms, wrapping himself protectively around Arthur's chest as though, of the two of them, Arthur were the one who stood the greatest danger of being hurt. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re ridiculous, you know,” he murmured quietly, his voice only slightly above a whisper. His hand was stroking, slow and steady, over Arthur’s hair and down his back, and Arthur hovered on the blissful edge of sleep, letting out only a disinterested <em>hmm</em> in answer to Merlin’s statement. “You’re like one of those big dogs down at the kennels, the dumb golden ones that follow you around sometimes when you’re in the stable-yard. You pretend like you’re big and tough but really you just want your tummy rubbed.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur made a disgruntled noise at being called dumb, and particularly at being compared to a dog, and Merlin chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” he said, now caressing the back of Arthur’s neck. “But you have to admit, it’s an apt comparison. I always figured you were just—like that; you know, always clapping someone on the shoulder or wrestling with them in the corridors. Showing off, of course. Like a prat.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur frowned—even half asleep, he understood enough to feel like this conversation wasn’t going in the direction he might have wished. </p><p> </p><p>“But that’s not it at all, is it? Or—that’s not all of it. You don’t just want to show off, you want to be petted. You want people to <em>like</em> you.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur rolled on top of him. Merlin squeaked, and when they were face to face Arthur opened his eyes again, studying Merlin’s features for any hint of mockery or malice. All he saw was amusement, and a fondness so steady and familiar that he had to look away.</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up, Merlin,” he said. He buried his face in Merlin’s collarbone, pressing a damp kiss to the skin he found there. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, okay.” Merlin breathed into his hair, settling his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ll shut up, then. You big, dumb mutt.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The next morning, Arthur woke before dawn, and disentangling himself from Merlin’s many-armed embrace walked over to the window to watch the sun rise. Below, the castle courtyard was full of people, most of them servants of some kind already busying themselves in preparation for the day. He saw Gwen go past, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders, no doubt on her way to Morgana’s chambers, and the baker down the street was already selling his wares. Behind him, Merlin slept on, oblivious; sorcerer or not, he really was the world’s worst manservant, most abysmally inattentive to Arthur’s needs. Usually, it was the way Arthur preferred him, as it made their whole arrangement feel less like an obligation, but this morning—</p><p> </p><p>This morning. </p><p> </p><p>The night before, Merlin had, to use his own words, fathomed him out, putting his finger all unknowingly on the very thing that Arthur had been most afraid of admitting to himself—or to anyone. He liked Merlin. More specifically, he liked to be <em>touched</em> by Merlin, more than he liked being touched by anyone else<em>. </em>He liked the gentleness of Merlin’s hands, his mouth, the soft, dopey smile he gave when he’d just woken up, and he would do just about anything for Merlin to like him back. </p><p> </p><p>How long before Merlin figured that out and used it to his advantage? A week? A month? Or if not Merlin, someone else, someone with fewer scruples who might go hunting for secrets he could use against them both. It was how these things worked. The more invested you were the more you stood to lose, and it was stupid—it was so <em>fucking</em> stupid—but somewhere along the line this had stopped feeling like a favour and started feeling more like—</p><p> </p><p>“Arthur?”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur turned. Merlin was propped up on his elbows, his hair tousled, the blankets sliding free from his naked shoulders. His eyes, however, were alert and almost wary; was it simply because Arthur was already dressed, or did he suspect that something was wrong? </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning,” Arthur said, not moving from where he stood. This was a discussion that would be safer from a distance. “Did you sleep well?”</p><p> </p><p>“More or less.” Merlin tipped his head to one side, studying Arthur with a curious gaze. “Did you? You look as though you’ve been awake all night.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine.” Arthur shrugged. It hardly mattered one way or the other. “But I—there’s something I have to ask you.”</p><p> </p><p>The tension in Merlin’s shoulders was visible even from here, but still he didn’t react, smiling at Arthur gamely. “All right.” He stretched, sinking back against the pillows again, his eyes trained on the prince’s face. “What is it that you want to know?” </p><p> </p><p>“How long have you been using magic?”</p><p> </p><p>To say that Merlin’s face turned white would have been an understatement. Arthur half imagined he could see the veins pulsing in his throat, the fine bone moving beneath his skin as his jaw worked and he swallowed. “I—what?” His voice was high and tight; he couldn’t have sounded less convincing if he’d tried. “I don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t bother lying,” Arthur cut in, folding his arms. “I already know you’re a sorcerer.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin’s mouth tightened, and he sat up straight, his eyes flickering momentarily towards the door. For a single, weightless instant, Arthur was convinced that he was about to bolt, and distantly he wondered whether he ought to just let him run.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve had magic all my life,” Merlin said finally, and Arthur let out his breath. “I was born with it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Who else knows?”</p><p> </p><p>“I—”</p><p> </p><p>“Your mother, of course,” Arthur interrupted, not needing to hear him to say it. He didn’t have to look at Merlin’s expression to guess that much. “Gaius. Who else?”</p><p> </p><p>He saw Merlin’s fists clench. “I won’t let you hurt them.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur wanted to laugh. He also wanted to hit something. “If I were going to hurt anybody, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you,” he said coolly. “I would have already called the guards and told my father everything. But I thought you’d earned the right to speak for yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>“You thought I’d <em>earned—</em>” Something ugly shadowed Merlin’s face and then was gone. “Is that what you think this is? Some kind of twisted attempt to win your favour?” </p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t it?” Arthur asked, voice even.</p><p> </p><p>“No.” Merlin slid from the bed and padded nude to retrieve his things, determinedly avoiding Arthur’s eyes. He had left bruises, Arthur saw now; a series of dark red bites along Merlin’s chest and neck. He could still feel every one of them against his mouth. “All I wanted—all I’ve <em>ever</em> wanted from you is your respect. But apparently that was too much to ask.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin dressed quickly. Arthur watched in silence as he fumbled for his breeches, his eyes downcast and his mouth set. This was good, this was—it was fine. A disappointed Merlin was a Merlin that he could deal with, but a Merlin who had snapped and tried to attack him would have shattered him utterly. He pressed his back against the wall. </p><p> </p><p>Finally, Merlin stood in front of him fully dressed, his face wiped clean of any expression. “I’ll go and fetch your breakfast, shall I, sire?” he asked formally. “The cook should be up and about by now; I’m sure she’ll have something prepared for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Merlin,” Arthur began, then stopped. He didn’t know what he was going to say, other than that he was sorry—that he hadn’t wanted things to end this way. But hadn’t he seen this coming from the beginning? Merlin had to have known, had to have been prepared for the possibility that Arthur would find out and it wouldn’t end well. “Yes, that would be a good idea, thank you,” he found himself agreeing, the words he really wanted to say dying trapped inside his throat. “I’ll dress myself this morning, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sire,” Merlin said, with a sort of perfect indifference he hadn’t managed even on his first day as Arthur’s manservant. “Whatever you say.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Content notes (spoilers!):</b> Arthur continues to view his relationship with Merlin as transactional, even though it obviously isn't. Mentions are made of the potential use of sorcery for non-consensual manipulation (including reference to canonical love spells) and assassination, and the potential corporal punishment of a minor for theft. Includes canon-typical use of words like fool, lunatic etc. in a pejorative sense.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NEXT UPDATE: TBA</p><p>Thanks so much for your patience, guys! I honestly hoped I would be done with this fic by now, but alas, a snail could write faster than I am just at the moment. I'm hoping to get the final chapter up in time for my birthday in May, though, so fingers crossed things will pick up again next month. </p><p>In the meantime, comments definitely fuel my inspiration—and you can always come yell at me to write more <a href="https://schweetheart.tumblr.com/">on tumblr</a> XD </p><p>Hope you enjoy the latest chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>3</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>As if that weren’t enough, Gaius turned up three days later to beg for Merlin’s life.</p><p> </p><p>“Gaius, get up,” Arthur said, alarmed, as the old man attempted to kneel on the stone floor in front of him. He caught the physician under both arms and helped him into a chair, gripping Gaius’ shoulders with his hands. “I’m not planning to hurt him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sire.” Gaius’ face was drawn and grey. “If your father ever found out—”</p><p> </p><p>“I told you, I’m <em>not planning to hurt him</em>.” The thought of Merlin burning at the stake, or bending his neck beneath the headsman’s axe, was not to be borne. “I haven’t quite figured out <em>what </em>I’m going to do with him.” Though he knew what it was that he wanted to do, which was to crowd Merlin against the wall in the nearest alcove and kiss him until he was normal again, without a magical bone in his body; until he was Merlin, and Arthur’s, and none of this had ever happened. “He can’t stay in Camelot indefinitely. It isn’t safe.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already advised him to leave, sire,” Gaius said, shaking his head. “But he refuses to go. He says his place is here with you, and that’s an end to it.” </p><p> </p><p>“I will explain, then,” Arthur said, getting up. “I’ll tell him what could happen if he stays—”</p><p> </p><p>“Arthur. He knows the risks.” Steadier now, Gaius met Arthur’s urgent gaze with his patient one, a look that he’d used when Arthur was a child and prone to rushing off into scrapes and tempers. “I’ve told him, many times, the punishment that is meted out to sorcerers in Camelot, and he’s seen for himself what your father does to those he disagrees with. If neither of those has worked, then I doubt anything you say will be enough to sway him.” He smiled a little, though it looked somewhat pained. “He is a very stubborn boy, as you are no doubt aware.”</p><p> </p><p>“He is.” Arthur’s laugh was little more than a breath, and he dropped back into his chair, covering his face with his hands. “What am I supposed to do, Gaius? My father’s laws on magic are very clear, and I am bound by them as much as anyone. More so, even, as I am both his son and the future king.”</p><p> </p><p>Gaius was silent for a very long time. Finally, he said, </p><p> </p><p>“Sire, what is the nature of your relationship with Merlin?”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur sat very still. “My—relationship?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” The old man met his eyes calmly. “He told me some of what has transpired between you, and what he didn’t tell me I am old enough—and, I hope, wise enough—to guess. He seemed to believe that it was nothing more than a temporary dalliance for you, that you were indulging his—shall we say, curiosity.” He paused. “I wanted to hear your side of the story.” </p><p> </p><p>“Merlin is—” Arthur struggled to find the words, but fell short. Finally, he said, “There was more to it than that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I see.” </p><p> </p><p>“Why did he never tell me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not to put too fine a point on it, sire, but your father does tend to disapprove of sorcery.” This time, Gaius fixed him with a pointed stare over the tops of his glasses, and Arthur squirmed. “What would your reaction have been, had you learned of Merlin’s powers back when he was just another servant to you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure Merlin has ever been just another servant to me,” Arthur confessed, scrubbing a hand wearily through his hair. “But you’re right. He—there was no reason for him to trust me. At least, not to begin with.”</p><p> </p><p>Afterwards, though—when they had become friends, when they had become <em> more than </em>friends. He would have trusted Merlin with his life, and had done, so many times. It stung that Merlin had been unwilling to do the same. </p><p> </p><p>“What is his purpose in all this? I mean—why is he here?” </p><p> </p><p>“That I cannot tell you,” Gaius said, holding up a hand when Arthur made to object. “No, sire—that is Merlin’s story to tell, not mine. But he isn’t here to harm you, if that is what you are asking. Quite the opposite, in fact.” </p><p> </p><p>“You mean he’s here to help.” Arthur couldn’t keep the scepticism from his voice. “A sorcerer who wants to help the prince of Camelot? Gaius, I’m sorry, but you know as well as I do what that kind of power does to a person, quite apart from whatever his feelings might be about my father.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Gaius nodded in agreement, his expression grave. “Power is a great corrupter. But power has never been something Merlin sought; it is merely what was given to him. Much like your title was given to you.”</p><p> </p><p>The words sank in slowly. Arthur had not made that connection before, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable making it now, but Gaius was right: there was something alike in their two situations, however different the power in question might be. It was what he had instinctively recognised that day on the training grounds, when he had likened Merlin to a wild bear following him around on a string. There was so much more to Merlin than he had ever imagined, and it was borderline obscene to think of him subjugating himself for so long, playing the hapless idiot for Arthur’s sake. </p><p> </p><p>“What does it say about the two of you, sire,” Gaius said softly, as though reading Arthur’s thoughts, “that Merlin would willingly lay down all of that power to serve you, in whatever way he can?”</p><p> </p><p>The sound Arthur made wasn’t remotely close to a laugh. “It tells me that he’s a fool,” he said. “But it seems I am a worse one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Sire—”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said, shaking his head. “That will be all.”</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, Gaius looked as though he was about to continue anyway, but a quick glance at Arthur’s face made him reconsider. “Very well.” He got up, hesitating a moment before turning towards the door. “But promise me that you will think on what I’ve said.”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Arthur responded, finally allowing some of his bitterness to seep through. “I doubt I shall be able to think of anything else.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Merlin did not mention Gaius’ visit when he came to wait on Arthur that evening, though he must have known about it. As he had done for the past three days, he kept his head down, his mouth set into a tight line which on any other occasion might have caused Arthur to try and coax him into a laugh. Today, however, he made no attempt to break the silence. He could well imagine the sorts of things Merlin was keeping tightly locked behind his teeth, and he had no desire to hear them, however richly they might have been deserved. </p><p> </p><p>He dismissed Merlin before undressing, not wanting to prolong the ordeal for either of them, and gave himself only a perfunctory wash before sliding under the covers. His last thought before he fell asleep was of Merlin’s hands, the way Merlin held them now curled in close to his body, as if afraid he might brush against Arthur’s skin by mistake. Strange, that it should be this small detail which hurt him the most—the knowledge that Merlin could despise him so thoroughly as to make touching him seem like too much to bear.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m worried about you, Arthur,” Morgana said the following day, studying him closely across the dinner table. “You’re not acting like yourself. I do hope you’re not coming down with something.” </p><p> </p><p>Her tone was light, but there was a calculating look in her eyes that Arthur recognised; she was curious, and since he hadn’t yet given her enough clues yet to understand what was going on, she was reduced to fishing for them herself, baiting each of her words with little hooks to see if he would bite.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired,” he said, only realising after he’d said it how often he had used that excuse over the past few days, and how often it had actually been true. “I’m sorry if my company isn’t up to your exacting standards.” </p><p> </p><p>“Your company has never been up to my standards, but you’ve never let that stop you before,” Morgana said archly. “And just what is it that has been keeping you up at nights? Has the chambermaid rejected your advances? Are you pining away from a broken heart?” </p><p> </p><p>He could feel her gaze intent on his face, and it took considerable force of will to keep his eyes on his plate and his expression impassive. Morgana was waiting, he knew, for an outraged splutter of denial or even a blush, but Arthur had no rejoinder for her—not when the decidedly un-maiden-like manservant he was pining over was standing in this very room. Instead, he returned to his meal with a shrug and picked up his knife, ignoring the way her eyes narrowed at his dismissal. He had picked the meat off the bones without realising it, turning it into neat shredded strips at the side of his plate, but he couldn’t remember eating a single bite.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure Arthur has more important topics on his mind than serving maids,” Uther said, mercifully putting an end to the exchange. He put down the lamb hock he had been chewing on and focused his gaze on his son. “Or he soon will do. It might interest you both to know that the Lady Berenice has been arrested for sorcery.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgana set down her goblet with a loud <em> thunk</em>. “You’re not serious.” </p><p> </p><p>“I received the letter this morning,” Uther said. His brow furrowed the way it always did when Morgana spoke out of turn, but he went on, “I understand this will come as a shock to you; I know you have always considered the lady a friend. But I’m afraid there can be no mistake.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur wiped his greasy fingers on a napkin, trying to hide the way his hands were shaking. This time, he couldn’t resist a glance at Merlin. His manservant didn’t so much as breathe in a way that could have betrayed his feelings, yet his very presence was a silent accusation. How often had he been forced to listen to conversations like this one, knowing that any one of them might kill him in a heartbeat if they found out what he was? </p><p> </p><p>“And what has that to do with me?” Arthur asked, relieved to hear his voice come out steady and indifferent. “Lady Berenice was always more Morgana’s friend than my own.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, yes. But someone will be needed to oversee the trial,” Uther said. He took a sip of wine, then dabbed at his mouth with the tablecloth. “Lady Berenice is a member of the nobility, therefore only someone from the royal household will do. And of course, I’ll need you to arrange for her execution.”</p><p> </p><p>“But—” Morgana spoke the very words Arthur had been thinking, “If you intend to hold a trial, perhaps she’ll be found innocent.”</p><p> </p><p>“If she were innocent, she would not have been arrested,” Uther said patiently. “Her father is a man of good standing, so there are certain formalities which must be observed, but by the same token I’m sure no one would have laid a hand on her without conclusive evidence. I wouldn’t expect you to understand the politics involved.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgana’s cheeks flushed crimson. “I understand full well, my lord,” she said, her eyes flashing. “You have no interest in determining the truth of the situation, and are sending Arthur to ‘investigate’ so that the lady’s family will understand they are all under suspicion.” Her lip curled. “Tell me, if I were ever accused of sorcery, would you even bother to speak with me first, or would you just have me burned at the stake and have done with it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mor<em>gana</em>—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Morgana said, setting down her knife. She scraped her chair back across the stone floor and stood up, her mouth set into a stubborn line. “You will forgive me, sire, but all this talk of executions has rather taken away my appetite.” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur watched as she stormed out the door, half resenting her for leaving and half regretting that he lacked the courage to join her. Merlin’s presence pricked at his conscience like a burr on a saddle-blanket, irritating and inescapable, but Uther seemed oblivious to the tension in the room. </p><p> </p><p>“And that,” the king said, with a certain grim humour, “is why governance is best left to the men. You will, of course, ride out tomorrow morning?”</p><p> </p><p>It was an order, not a question. Arthur swallowed a mouthful of venison and tried to come up with an excuse, though he was well aware that his father would accept nothing less than fatal injury as justification for refusal. </p><p> </p><p>“What about the knights’ training?” </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already asked Sir Kay to oversee it for you,” Uther said, dismissing the concern with a wave of his hand. “Your escort will be ready to leave at first light. I expect it won’t take more than a few weeks for you to establish the verdict and carry out the sentence.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course, sire,” Arthur said. He pushed his plate away, his already faded appetite vanishing entirely. “I’ll be ready to go as soon as you give the word.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“He can’t do this.” </p><p> </p><p>Morgana’s skirts billowed as she paced through Arthur’s chambers, her heels clacking loudly on the stone floor. She was still dressed as she had been at dinner, and as a consequence made for rather an incongruous presence, her blazing eyes and clenched teeth at odds with the refined elegance of her dress. </p><p> </p><p>“Lady Berenice is a friend. She’s stayed at the castle numerous times—she’s a <em> noblewoman </em>, for God’s sake. He can’t just have her executed on a whim.” </p><p> </p><p>“She is also,” Arthur said, “a sorceress. Apparently.” </p><p> </p><p>Morgana rounded on him at once. “So that makes it all right, does it?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, of course not.” Arthur rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “I’m just saying, we don’t know what the circumstances are yet. If Lady Berenice does indeed have magic…”</p><p> </p><p>“Then what?” Morgana’s expression had become truly frightening. “She deserves to be put to death?” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur did not reply. What could he say? If she did, in fact, have magic, then the Lady Berenice had lied to them all and broken the king’s law into the bargain, but he could hardly blame her for trying to keep her powers secret when this was the result. His father, however, was unlikely to see this as anything but an act of the basest treachery, and as his representative, Arthur would be bound to carry out his sovereign’s wishes.</p><p> </p><p>“What would you have me do, Morgana?” he asked finally. “There will be a trial. If she is innocent, I swear to you she will not be harmed. There is still every chance that she might yet be acquitted.” </p><p> </p><p>Morgana sneered. “You and I both know how likely that is,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to your father whether she’s guilty or not; he just wants to use her as a pawn to control her family. You do know that Lord Anselm has one of the richest holdings in Camelot?” </p><p> </p><p>“I am aware.” </p><p> </p><p>“And you know what Uther’s been doing—how eager he is to push for war against Cenred—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been to the same council meetings as you have, Morgana,” Arthur said, a warning note entering his voice. “I know what is at stake here, probably better than you do.” </p><p> </p><p>Morgana let out a bitter laugh and stalked away from him, stopping only when she had reached the open courtyard window. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice low. “If he can do this to Lady Berenice, when he <em> knows </em>her—when her father is his friend…”</p><p> </p><p>She trailed off, wrapping both arms around her torso, and Arthur saw the way she shivered in her thin silks. The evening was a mild one for the time of year, yet there was an unmistakeable chill in the air that had nothing to do with the weather.</p><p> </p><p>“Morgana,” Arthur said carefully. She seemed lost in reverie, staring out into the dark with wide, unseeing eyes. “Are you all right?” </p><p> </p><p>For a moment, he feared she wouldn’t answer. He had seen her like this only a handful of times before, usually after a particularly vicious nightmare, when she would retreat into herself for hours or sometimes even days at a time. At last, however, his question seemed to reach her, and the blank look left her face as she blinked and turned towards him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine,” she said, her lips turning upwards in an unconvincing smile. “I’m just concerned for Berenice, that’s all. She’s always been a good friend to me.” </p><p> </p><p>“I know.” Arthur studied her, but if something else was bothering her, she allowed no hint of it to show in her face. “I’ll do what I can for her, I promise.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Morgana’s expression didn’t change. “I’m sure you will.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When Morgana had gone, Arthur turned to Merlin, who had dragged one of his trunks down from the top of the closet and was filling it with an air of a concentration so exaggerated that it had to be an act.</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then,” he said, folding his arms. “I suppose you have an opinion on this as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Me, sire?” Merlin had his back towards him, his hands busy organising Arthur’s travelling clothes. “Why would I have an opinion on anything? I’m just a lowly servant, I haven’t the wits to think for myself.” </p><p> </p><p>Arthur pressed his lips together. “We both know that that isn’t true,” he said. “You’ve done nothing <em>but </em>think for yourself since the moment we met. And you’re hardly ‘just’ a servant.”</p><p> </p><p>Merlin gave a short laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, sire,” he said. “I was also your bed-warmer for a night or two, though I doubt that entitles me to any additional consideration from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Merlin. Don’t.”</p><p> </p><p>He heard Merlin sigh, and then his shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he said in a quieter voice. “Since you asked: I think Morgana’s right. Your father is obviously using the situation to gain a political advantage, and the Lady Berenice deserves better than to be humiliated by means of a farcical trial.” He turned around, this time meeting Arthur’s gaze head on. “Either way, I’d prefer not to tag along to watch another sorcerer burn, if it’s all the same to you.”</p><p> </p><p>So Merlin assumed he would find her guilty too, then. Perhaps he thought Arthur enjoyed it. Perhaps this was the reason he had wanted Arthur to sleep with him, so that he could persuade him not to do things he had no interest in doing in the first place, things that everyone seemed to expect him to do without question and no one thought about asking his opinion on.</p><p> </p><p>He felt a momentary anger tighten in his gut and had to take a deep breath. “You’re going,” he said flatly, “if I have to tie you to your horse myself.” </p><p> </p><p>Merlin flinched. “You hate me that much.” </p><p> </p><p>“This has nothing to do with how I feel about you.” </p><p> </p><p>“But you’d make me do it. You’d make me watch while you—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d make you do your job,” Arthur snapped. “Which at this present moment is to pack my things and keep your mouth shut.” </p><p> </p><p>Merlin shut his mouth. His jaw muscles flexed, and for a moment Arthur thought perhaps he had pushed too far. Would it hurt, he wondered idly, if Merlin used his magic against him? Would he even feel it if Merlin snapped his neck? </p><p> </p><p>Then Merlin said, “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll do that right away.”</p><p> </p><p>He had never called Arthur <em> Your Highness </em>before, not that Arthur could remember, and certainly not in that particular tone, each word aimed like a thrown dagger straight at Arthur’s heart. Arthur was used to verbal violence—both his father and Morgana were very good at using words to flay and wound, and he had grown up listening to their sparring matches across the dinner table. But he was not used to it from Merlin.</p><p> </p><p>“Address me like that again and I’ll have you in the stocks,” he snarled, ignoring the startled look on Merlin’s face, and left the room hastily before he was a forced to make good on his threat.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>There was a lesson in this somewhere, Arthur knew. The timing was too neat, too perfect for him not to feel as though someone, somewhere was trying to tell him something, but exactly what message he was supposed to take from it was unclear. That sorcery was everywhere? He already knew that much; he’d had the lesson drilled into him from a very young age, along with the knowledge that everyone and anyone could be a threat. That his father was a tyrant? That, too, had been a lesson well learned, though somewhat later in coming. When he was a child, he’d thought his father was a god.</p><p> </p><p>He had three days on the road to reflect on it, and another two days riding across country to reach Lord Anselm’s northern seat. Throughout the journey, Merlin barely said two words to him, having somehow contrived to become <em> more </em>silent now that he was, in theory, more at leisure to speak. By day, he rode at the back of the column with the wagons, claiming that he was needed there to supervise the supplies, and at night he slept wrapped a bedroll on the other side of Arthur’s tent, his back turned to the prince, only a hint of dark curls visible above the blankets. </p><p> </p><p>Had things been different, they might have shared those furs, and woken each other early with lazy kisses, the better to take their pleasure while the others were not awake to hear. Instead, Arthur woke up aching and alone, his hard cock straining against his stomach and his manservant nowhere to be seen. It was his job to help the others pack up the camp, of course, but Merlin had always made such a point of <em> not </em>doing his job that Arthur could not help seeing his sudden conscientiousness for the pointed rejection that it was.</p><p> </p><p>“Sire,” Leon began, tentative, when they rode out at the beginning of the third day. Merlin was at the rear of the party once again, chatting to one of the other knights with every appearance of enjoyment. “May I ask, are things with Merlin—”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Arthur interrupted him. “You may not ask. Nor may you question, discuss, or speculate. Is that understood?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, my lord,” Leon said at once, his tone respectful, but Arthur did not miss the concerned glance that followed him as he spurred his gelding forward, or the way Leon mysteriously ended up sitting next to him at supper that evening and the evening after that, as though trying in his own understated way to make up for Merlin's absence. </p><p> </p><p>It only made Arthur ache all the more for the difference. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Lady Berenice’s parents were waiting for them when they arrived, Arthur having sent a messenger ahead to alert the household of their approach. They were a tall, lanky couple, grown strangely alike in the way that married people sometimes did, and they watched Arthur and his retinue ride into the courtyard with matching dour expressions that perfectly reflected Arthur’s mood. He reined in his horse and dismounted stiffly, sore from almost a week in the saddle, and Lord Anselm hurried forward to bow and kiss his hand. </p><p> </p><p>“My lord,” he said, and his voice was as thin and dour as the rest of him. “It is an honour, as always, to receive you in our home. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances.”</p><p> </p><p>“As do I,” Arthur agreed politely. He looked over Anselm’s shoulder towards his wife, who curtsied to him with an unconvincing smile. “My father sends his regrets. He would have come himself, only he was detained on a matter of urgent business. He has asked me to investigate the allegations against your daughter in his place.” </p><p> </p><p>Lord Anselm and his wife exchanged glances. “Investigate, my lord?” Lord Anselm asked cautiously. “We thought you were here to pass down your father’s judgment.” </p><p> </p><p>“I am. But I can hardly do so without a trial,” Arthur said, ignoring the way Sir Leon shifted uneasily beside him. He agreed with the knight’s unspoken assessment; it was strange that any father would not jump at the chance to prove his daughter’s innocence, especially for something like sorcery, which carried with it a penalty of death. In fact, Arthur could not remember the last time someone had so tamely accepted their loved one’s fate. “At the very least, I would like to speak with Lady Berenice before passing judgment.” </p><p> </p><p>“Of course, my lord.” Another glance at his wife, and then another bow. “But first—it's getting late, and you must be tired from your journey. Allow me to show you to your rooms, where you and your men may refresh yourselves before the evening meal; tomorrow will be soon enough for such melancholy business.” </p><p> </p><p>“By all means.”</p><p> </p><p>Arthur shared one last look with Leon, who gave an infinitesimal shrug, then followed their host as he beckoned them all inside, trying not to feel like a rabbit that was about to put its head into a noose. It occurred to him, fleetingly, that perhaps he ought not to have brought Merlin along after all. If they <em>were </em>walking into some kind of trap, there was no telling whose side his manservant would be on, and Uther wouldn't hesitate to assume complicity if he ever found out what Merlin was. It might have been safer for both of them if Merlin had stayed behind in Camelot; yet Arthur could hardly have left him there without supervision—not if he expected to find him safe and well when he returned.</p><p> </p><p>Lord Anselm led them to one of the guest wings, a richly furnished suite which nevertheless seemed somewhat musty, as if it were seldom used and had to be aired out expressly for this occasion. Sir Leon left them at the door, having assigned two of Arthur’s men to stand guard outside it, and then Arthur was alone with Merlin again—not normally a state of affairs that would have caused him much anxiety, but one that now seemed fraught with potential hazards, both physical and emotional. </p><p> </p><p>Merlin, however, gave no sign of sharing Arthur’s tension; he was already beginning to unpack the prince’s things, his head bent to reveal a pale strip of skin above his dark blue neckerchief, hair curling damply at the nape of his neck. From this angle, Arthur couldn’t tell if the love bites he had left so many nights ago were still visible, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to find out, or from wishing he had the nerve to tug the neckerchief down an inch or two further to look his fill. </p><p> </p><p>“Merlin,” he said, and then stopped. What could he say, exactly, that would not sound strange? I want to know if I left my mark on you? I want to see if there might be any trace that we—that<em> I </em>—</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sire?” Merlin’s voice was admirably inflectionless, but Arthur fancied he could still read the anger in his eyes. “Was there something you wanted?” </p><p> </p><p>“No, I—” The last time Merlin had asked him what he wanted, it had been in a very different context, and the pang of futile longing that seared through Arthur’s gut was enough to steal his breath. “I’ve ordered a bath brought up,” he said at last, when he could speak. Merlin had been present at the time and must have heard the order, but he had to say <em>something </em>rather than blurt out what was on his mind. “I thought—it was a long trip. You’re welcome to the water after I’m done.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thank you, sire.” </p><p> </p><p>Their eyes met. For an instant, watching Merlin’s face, Arthur could almost swear he saw a glimmer of humour in the angle of his mouth, the ghost of an impertinent remark lingering in the shape of his lips. Then something outside clattered, heralding the arrival of the tub and with it a half dozen of Lord Anselm’s servants, and the amusement drained from Merlin’s eyes like it was never there.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Content notes (spoilers!):</b> Discussion of potential executions, some mild sexism from Uther (who is a dick: surprise, surprise), brief contemplation of murder-by-magic, and some flagrant disregard for historical accuracy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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